Volume VII - In an Eastern Rose Garden

SILENT LIFE

When we look at the universe we find there are two aspects of existence:
firstly, life; secondly, the condition which compared with what we call life
seems to be lifeless. The one aspect of existence we call life, the other aspect
we overlook. We divide it into periods and call it time, or we compare it with
objects and call it space.

We say than an object is alive, when it shows some activity and
consciousness, meaning that it can move and see and think. An object that cannot
see and is not active, we call dead. Whatever seems to be devoid of activity and
consciousness is called a thing. When it has consciousness and activity, it is
called living.

What is the source of this consciousness and activity? The circulation of the
blood, the energy of the movements of the body, the activity of the nerves and
muscles, if we could only know what it is that keeps them in action! A person
may say that it all goes on mechanically like a clock, but the clock is not the
source of the movement. The mind is the source of the clock; the mind has made
the clock, has thought about it, has wound it; it continues to depend upon man
to keep it going. Therefore behind 'clock' is 'man'. Even if it only wants
winding once a year, still there is man behind it, whom we do not see.

It is the same with the whole mechanism of nature: all is mechanical and runs
according to certain laws, and yet there is a source or origin of things hidden
behind it all. As the artist is hidden behind his art, as the scientist is
hidden behind his invention, as the mind is hidden behind the body, as the cause
is hidden behind the action, so there is always one aspect of life which is
hidden behind that other aspect which alone is recognized as life.

Both science and religion show that consciousness has evolved through
different stages, from mineral to vegetable, from vegetable to animal, and from
animal to humanity. It is regarded as the achievement of modern science that
this thought has been reached, but its source lies in the traditions of the
past. Rumi's Masnavi tells us the experience of consciousness from the mineral
up to the plant:

I died as a mineral, and rose a plant,
I died as a plant, and rose again an animal.
I died as an animal, and rose a man.
Why then should I fear to become less by dying?

I shall die once again as a man,
To rise an angel, perfect from head to foot.
Again, when I suffer dissolution as an angel,
I shall become what passes the conception of man.

Science today stops at man, but the poem says that from man I shall rise to
be an angel, and from angel I shall ascend to that stage of being which passes
man's comprehension. This poem was written in the thirteenth century.

This proves Solomon's saying, 'There is nothing new under the sun.' When man
discovers something today he in reality only brings to light something which
existed in the past, either as history or as tradition. Even before Rumi, one
finds this idea in the Quran.

What can we learn from this? Every activity which we call 'life' has sprung
from a source that is silent, and will always be silent; and every activity,
however different in aspect, peculiar to itself, and unlike others in its
effect, is still the activity of a tiny part of that life which is as wide as
the ocean. Call it world, universe, nation, country, race, community, one
individual, or only a particle, an atom - its activity, its energy springs in
each case from one inseparable and eternal silent aspect of life. And it has not
only sprung from it, but it also resolves itself into it. One throws a pebble
into the water, water that is still and calm. There comes an activity, it comes
for one moment, and then it vanishes. Into what does it vanish? It vanishes into
the same silence in which the water was before. Water is a substance that is
active by nature, and the silence, the stillness, the calmness that it shows is
just the original state, the effect of its original source. This means that the
natural inclination of every thing and every being is silence, because it has
come from silence, and yet it is active, because it is activity that produces
activity; and its end is silence.

Therefore sages, mystics, and philosophers who have probed into the depths of
life have seen that what we call life is death, and that what we call no life is
the real life.

A Hindustani poet says, 'Raise your eyes, friend, from what you call life to
that which perhaps you do not recognize as life, and then you will find that
what you had once called life is nothing but death, and what you thought was
nothing, is really life.'

When one comes to the essence of the teachings of Christ one will see that
from beginning to end the whole attitude of the Master is to tell mankind that
there is a life beyond, which is higher than this which one calls life. And
which yet is not life; that is to say, higher in quality, not beyond in time.

The life one recognizes is only the mortal aspect of life. Very few have ever
seen or been conscious of the immortal aspect at all. Once one has realized
life, that which one has hitherto called life is found to be only a glimpse or
shadow of the real life that is beyond comprehension. To understand it one will
have to raise one's light high from under the cover that is hiding it like a
bushel. This cover is man's mind and body; it is a cover that keeps the light
active on the world of things and beings. 'Do not keep your light under a
bushel' means that we are not to keep the consciousness absorbed in the study of
the external world, and in its pleasures and enjoyments. Man is always apt to
say that the religious thinker is a dreamer, lost in vague ideals, having no
proof of what he believes, and far from what he himself would call the reality.
He never thinks that what he calls real has in its turn become unreal to the one
to whom the silent life has become reality. Can you call this life real which is
subject to such changes every moment? Every activity and the object of
everyone's life - riches, power, love, friendship, childhood, youth, health,
pleasure, displeasure, happiness, and poverty - all change sooner or later. Can
anybody think that such things are reality? What can one call all this that is
subject to change, whose source is seen and whose end is unseen, which is
subject to death and destruction, after which it is seen no more? Is that
reality? Or are not the realities perhaps really behind the scene, from whence
everything came and to which everything goes?

Perhaps many of us have experienced at some time or other, in our own home,
or in a church, a temple, or other religious place, how there is a kind of
silence as we sit there. Compared with a bazaar, a market, or a factory there is
no activity. If under such circumstances we noticed the condition of our own
self, of our mind, of our thoughts, of our body, and have felt any comfort, have
we then asked ourselves why we felt comfort and rest? Then, take another
experience: We may be a few moments or a few hours in the woods, away and apart
from everybody. It may seem as if even the trees and the leaves are keeping
silence. The feelings that we have at such a time cannot be expressed in words.
These feelings cannot be called pleasure, because what we are accustomed to in
pleasure or in joy is not the same. We can only say, 'That peculiar pleasure,
that peculiar joy.' There is no name for it, and yet it is a true experience of
the soul.

Then there is a still greater and deeper experience: When a person is in a
wilderness, near rocks in the desert, where there is no sound even of birds or
beasts, when there is absolute silence. In the East, did not all the prophets
from the time of Abraham, Moses, David, and in the time of Christ and Muhammad,
all the prophets of the Old Testament and the New, and of the Quran, receive
their inspiration from the same source? The history of Moses on Mount Sinai, the
Prophet of Nazareth in the wilderness, the Prophet Muhammad on Ghar-i Hira, did
they not all drink from the silent life? Though God is in all activities, forms
and names, it is His other aspect: solid, firm, eternal, all sufficient and
powerful, all-intelligent, undivided and inseparable, from which the inspiration
came as a perfect inspiration, so that the world could take it as the sacred
Word, in all ages and in all times.

Then, coming to the cause of idol-worship, a person might wonder about the
old custom of Brahmins and Buddhists, who went into the temple of Buddha or
Krishna, and sat before an idol which neither spoke to them nor took notice of
them. He might think, 'What could they gain? It has a mouth and speaks not, it
has hands yet cannot move.' And so people mocked at them. Scoffed at them, and
called them heathen and pagan. But they did not know of this silence that was
impressed upon the worshipper. This human form sitting before them, silent and
quiet and not speaking, or hearing, or thinking, absolutely quiet; just think
what it means.

When a man is among friends he may get tired; sometimes he enjoys their
society, but when he does not enjoy it, he thinks, I am drained of all
vitality.' Why is this? It is the impression of their minds that has been
produced in his mind. Perhaps someone has insulted him, or snubbed him, or told
him this or that, and he goes among his friends bringing all his troubles with
him; and then he leaves still saying, 'I am tired.' If he is working in a
factory, it is reasonable to be tired in body; but why should he be tired in
society where people are laughing and chatting? It is because their condition of
mind is not like his.

But before the idol, there is perfect harmony. See, here is someone sitting
quiet. A quiet human form which does not speak; what rest! It may not help, but
it does not disturb. It keeps the worshipper silent; that was the idea.

What do we learn from this? Every effort was made by the teachers of religion
to waken men to that aspect of life that is overlooked in ordinary life, which
they call 'life.' The purpose of concentration, contemplation, meditation, all
that is the essence of religion or mysticism or philosophy, is nothing but this
one thing: to attain to that depth which is the root of our life.

A Marathi poet has said, 'O mind, my restless mind, my mind with its thoughts
of a thousand things which it supposes will make it happy, saying, 'If I had
that, I should be happy; if I had this, I should feel life was not wasted.' O,
my mind, will you tell me who in this world is happy?' The mind says, 'if I had
the wealth which I see others have, I should be happy.' But are these others
happy? They in their turn say they would be, if they had something still higher!

The secret of happiness is hidden under the veil of spiritual knowledge. And
spiritual knowledge is nothing but this: that there is a constant longing in the
heart of man to have something of its origin, to experience something of its
original state, the state of peace and joy which has been disturbed, and yet is
sought after throughout its whole life, and never can cease to be sought after
until the real source has at length been realized. What was it in the wilderness
that gave peace and joy? What was it that came to us in the forest, the
solitude? In either case it was nothing else but the depth of our own life,
which is silent like the depths of the great sea, so silent and still. It is the
surface of the sea that makes waves and roaring breakers; the depth is silent.
So the depth of our own being is silent also.

And this all-pervading, unbroken, inseparable, unlimited, ever-present,
omnipotent silence unites with our silence like the meeting of flames. Something
goes out from the depths of our being to receive something from there, which
comes to meet us; our eyes cannot see and our ears cannot hear and our mind
cannot perceive because it is beyond mind, thought, and comprehension. It is the
meeting of the soul and the Spirit.

Therefore the idea of understanding the spiritual ideal is to attain to that
state of being, of calm and peace and joy and everlasting happiness, which
neither changes nor ceases to exist. It is to realize what is said in the Bible,
'Be ye perfect even as your Father in heaven.' Those words do not tell us to
remain imperfect as everybody on earth. No, they mean the idea of all
perfection, all unity, no separation. It is the opposite of the idea that
religion should keep part of humanity separate, saying, 'You do not belong to
our church, our mosque, our temple!' It is the opposite of loyalty to this
particular sect or community, or to that particular sacred book, to this
particular teaching, or to that particular truth. Is not the source of all truth
hidden in every man's heart, be he Christian, Muslim, Buddhist or Jew? Is not
each part of that life which we call spiritual or divine? To be just this or
that is the same as not going further than this or that. The bliss found in
solitude is hidden within every human being; he has inherited it from his
heavenly Father. In mystical words it is called the all-pervading light. Light
is the source and origin of every human soul, of every mind.

The Sufi looks upon life as one life, upon all religions as his religion:
call him a Christian and he is that, call him a Muslim or a Hindu and he is
that; call him whatever you like, he does not mind. A Sufi does not think about
what people call him. Who calls him Sufi? It is not he. But if he does not call
himself something, someone else is sure to find a name for him. Cats and dogs do
not declare their names; it is man that gives them a name. If you call yourself
'New Thought,' it will be made into the name of a new sect some day. If you call
yourself 'Higher Thought,' that will be a sect one day; call yourself what you
will: philosophy, theosophy, religion, mysticism, it is only the one thing, it
is nothing but the constant longing of the soul of the human being. After
experiencing all the different aspects of the life of activity, the longing to
attain to that state of peace or calm seems in the end to be the only object
that the soul wishes to achieve.

A person may keep thinking that perhaps he will be happy when he is a king,
or rich, or an officer; then he will gain his desire, and as long as he has not
got it, the sweetness of the thought lies only in the hope. As long as there is
hope there is sweetness; after fulfilling the desire, the hope has gone. Then he
hopes for something else. It is hope that is sweet, not the object. The object
is never sweet; it is the sweetness of the hope that makes the object seem
sweet.

'If I could reach that height!' a man says. So long as he has not reached
that height, the dream of reaching the height, of one day experiencing that
position, experience, or imagination, the dream of being comforted by it, so
long he has the sweetness of the hope. But when it has come, the sweetness is
finished. Then begins a new hope, always hoping, hoping. And still behind it all
is that one inclination, common to all, the inclination of which he does not
know the nature. No person would live did he not have the hope of something for
which he was waiting.

Hope is the only food of life. Then reason says, 'Yes, I am looking forward
to my change from this place to the next; to get my inheritance some day; then I
shall be all right; I shall be all right when I get that position, that house,
that comfort.' Man has always something before him, imagining, building,
preparing and holding it in the mind all the time, and yet when he does get it,
there is always another hope.

It is only those who are blessed by perceiving the origin and source of all
things who awaken to the fact that the real inclination of every life is to
attain to something which can not be touched or comprehended or understood. The
hidden blessing of this knowledge is the first step to perfection. Once awake to
this fact, man sees there is something in life that will make him really happy
and give him his heart's desire. He can say, 'Though there are many things in
life which I need for the moment, and for which I shall certainly work, yet
there is only that one thing, around which life centers, that will satisfy me:
the spiritual attainment, the religious attainment, or, as one may even call it,
the attainment of God.' Such a one has found the key to all happiness, and has
found that all the things he needs will be reached because he has the key to
all. 'Seek, and ye shall find: knock, and it shall be opened unto you... Seek
first the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you.' This
kingdom of God is the silent life; the life inseparable, eternal,
self-sufficient, and all-powerful. This is the life of the wise, whatever be the
name given to it; this is the life which the wise contemplate. It is the face of
this life that they long to see; it is the ocean of this life that they long to
swim in; as it is written: 'In Him we live and have our being.'

These are the ones who are really happy, who are above all unhappiness, above
death and the destruction of life.